


Drowning Lessons

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Artist Gerard Way, Frerard, High School, High School AU, M/M, MCR, Mikey Way - Freeform, emo pete wentz, fall out boy - Freeform, frank iero - Freeform, gerard can’t swim - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform, my chemical romance - Freeform, pete wentz - Freeform, sarcastic teenager mikey way, swimmer frank iero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 05:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Gerard Way knew the extent of his talent was limited to the arts. When it came to athletics, his stamina was terrible, his shots were weak, and his aim was absolutely atrocious.So how, then, does he find himself watching the boy's varsity swim practices four times a week?Simple: it involved Frank Iero wearing a speedo.





	1. Can You Tell I Don’t Actually Know Anything About Swimming?

**Author's Note:**

> hi this was originally published on wattpad under the username @/lNTRODUCTlON (i’s are lowercase L’s) but i decided to post it here. i wrote this back in january and it’s super cliché but i love it ig.

"You're fucking hopeless," Mikey sighed as he followed his brother through the doors of the school's indoor pool.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Gerard said. He fixed his eyes ahead of him and breathed in a deep whiff of the familiar chlorinated air that made his head spin.

Mikey shook his head, plonking his backpack onto the third- and highest- metal riser that rested against the wall before sitting beside it.

"Yeah, like you don't force me to come to these practices just to watch hot guys in Speedos for an hour four times a week."

"I do not," Gerard shot back. Technically, he wasn't lying. He only came here to watch one hot guy in a Speedo for an hour four times a week.

"Sure."

"I don't!" he repeated. "I just think it's a nice place to study after school!"

"I didn't know staring at someone's ass was now called studying," Mikey unzipped his backpack and pulled out his math binder. He opened it and rested it on his knees, focusing studiously like the fucking nerd he was.

 

The swimmers were all gathered near the shallow end of the pool, joking around and occasionally shoving one another further into the water. Gerard could even put a name to a few of their faces, though it was only to the ones who actually had a name in his school. It wasn't a matter of popularity.

In fact, you probably didn't want your name to be known at Belleville High, because it was usually for an embarrassing reason.

Take Josh Dun, for example. If his bright yellow hair wasn't enough, he had projectile vomited all over the lunch lady on the previous Halloween. Or Brendon Urie, who had chased Ryan Ross through the hallways in only a towel last year. Or Ryan Ross, who became known for stealing Brendon's bathing suit on the same day. Unsurprisingly, those two events weren't unconnected.

Gerard wondered if Frank Iero was known for something. He didn't tend to pay attention to kids who weren't in his grade (or kids in his grade, for that matter). He probably wouldn't even know Frank existed if he hadn't started using swim practices as distraction-free places to do his homework that eventually evolved into a place for him to admire guys.

The boys in the water starting doings laps as a warm up. One at a time, to the end of the pool and back. It was almost therapeutic, watching them swing their arms and kick their legs. It was repetitive and predictable, with no unexpected twists (unless, of course, someone started to drown or something). And Gerard, being a creature of habit, greatly respected that about the sport.

"Yeah, wow, I can tell that you're here to do work," Mikey's voice came out muffled through the pencil he was chewing. Gerard jumped, pulling his head away from where it had been comfortably resting in his palm and sat up straight.

"Shut up," he replied.

"Make me."

Gerard rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not interested in you in that way?"

Mikey let out a short laugh before averting his attention back to his work. After a moment of contemplation, Gerard decided to do the same, and he was very proud to say that he only got distracted by Frank half of the time.

-

A whistle screeched, echoing unpleasantly throughout the room.

"Practice is over! Go get changed, you animals!" the swim coach shouted.

"Alright, coach," a tall boy said as he lifted his gangly legs from the water. "Thanks for the practice!" he gave an energetic high five and went to collect his towel from the nearby rack.  
Gerard's handwriting became rushed and sloppier as he hurried to finish the final question on one of his papers.

"Gerard, hurry up," Mikey dragged, already prepared to leave.

"Wait a sec! I just have, like, eight more sentences," Gerard's eyes followed his pencil across the lined paper.

"Since when do you ever finish anything?" his brother argued.

"Since when have you ever finished someone?" he shot back.

Mikey chose to ignore that last sentence. He crossed his arms and waited ever so patiently for about five more seconds before huffing and mumbling something about waiting in the car.

Just as Gerard was finishing up his last sentence, the boy's locker room door swung open, revealing a confused looking Frank with water stained on the collar and back of his shirt. He scratched his head and scanned the floor with sharp eyes like a hunter searching for game.

He hadn't noticed Gerard yet, which left him time to think about what to do. It wasn't like he had a crush on Frank or anything. It was an infatuation, at most. He didn't even know the guy apart from his looks! Gerard doubted that he could be that much of an asshole, though. He had nice eyebrows, and people with nice eyebrows were usually decent.

Gerard listed off his options. One: attempt to talk to him, and possibly ruin all chances of even a friendship, two: offer to help him look for whatever he was searching for, or three: ignore Frank and hope he would go away without noticing Gerard.

He didn't even get a chance to decide before he was torn from his mental conflict.

"Hey, are you waiting for someone?" Frank asked.

He reacted almost embarrassingly quickly, shaking his head no like a wet dog. "No- uh, no. I'm not."

Frank's gaze fell on the floor near the doorway. His face lit up with delight as he rushed toward the soggy object.

"Money," he explained, seeing Gerard's questioning glance. "Must've fallen out of my jeans on my way here."

"Oh," Gerard replied smartly.

"Anyways," Frank pocketed the cash, shoving it deep into his pocket. Oh god, Gerard wasn't prepared. He didn't expect the conversation to go on longer than that. "If you aren't watching these practices for someone, then why are you always here?"

Gerard felt the blood leave his face. How do you explain to someone that you watch their swim practices to admire their ass? That's right. You can't.

"I just- I really enjoy swimming?" he hadn't meant for it to come out like a question.

However, if Frank had noticed, he didn't let on. "Really? Then why don't you try swim?"

Gerard must have looked like a fish out of water- wide eyes and a gaping mouth. "No. Never." He formed an 'X' with his arms and swung downward, just in case he hadn't been clear enough with his obvious terror about the suggestion. "Not in a million years."

"Why not?" the younger boy asked, tilting his head like a puppy.

Gerard looked down at his knees. This conversation was embarrassing enough as it was with his constant stuttering. He really didn't need to be sharing one of his most shameful secrets.

"Ican'tswim," he muttered quietly.

"What?"

Gerard looked up at the ceiling, not meeting Frank's eyes, "I can't swim!"

He clenched his teeth, blinking away the burning in his eyes, and braced himself for the laughter. It always happened. Sometimes discreetly, sometimes not so much, and almost always followed by a "You can't swim? But you're almost eighteen!"

But it never came.

"Do you want me to teach you?" Frank asked before he could stop himself.

Gerard lowered his sight to look at him again. It took him a moment to process what he had just said. "What?"

"Do you want me to teach you?" Frank repeated patiently.

"Really?" this had to be some sort of joke.  
The toe of Frank's sneaker scuffed against the floor, "I mean... yeah. If you want me to."

Gerard's hair bounced along with his head as he nodded, almost too eagerly. "I- yeah. That would be cool, I guess."

"Cool," repeated Frank. He jutted his thumb behind him, pointing to the locker room door. "I should, uh, get going back to my friend. He's probably waiting for me. Can we discuss this tomorrow?"

The older boy nodded again, "Yeah, that's alright. Bye, Frank. I mean- fuck. You never even told me your name." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his temple, realizing his massive fuck up. Now Frank probably thought he was a creep.

"I swear I'm not a stalker. I just heard the coach saying your name."

Frank cracked a smile, showing off his Invisalign, "It's fine. He yells at me a lot." He pretended to wince, "I'm not the best listener."

Gerard shared his grin, "Neither am I, to be honest. I promised my brother I'd be out once I finished my homework, but instead I'm setting up swim lessons." He put his textbook into his checkered backpack, suddenly remembering that Mikey existed, and was probably rather agitated.

"I've gotta go meet him now, though. He's gonna be pissed as hell."

He waved to Frank on his way out the door, slinging his bag over his shoulder and eventually exiting the school.

-

"What took you so long?" Pete asked as he ran his hand through his still damp hair.

Frank sighed, "I'm giving some kid who's in the grade above me some swimming lessons, I guess?"

Pete cocked an eyebrow, "Really? Who?"

Frank scrunched his face in an effort to remember, "Good question." He opened his locker and grabbed his bag, shoving his green striped towel and bathing suit in it.

"You don't even know his name?"

Frank shook his head and slammed the locker door. "Must've forgot to tell me."

"What did he look like?"

"Uh... he was taller than me."

"What a surprise," Pete joked as the two made their way through their deserted school hallways.

"Shut up," Frank whined. "Anyways, he had red hair-"

"Wait," interrupted Pete, stopping in his tracks. "Like, real red or dyed red?"

"Dyed. Do you know him?"

Pete jumped in the air, clapping his hands together. "Yes! That's Mikey Way's brother!" he exclaimed, eyes shining with the excitement of a little kid on Christmas morning.

Of course Pete knew who it was if it was related to Mikey Way. There wasn't a single thing about the boy that he didn't know. To be honest, his obsession was a bit creepy.

"Oh, so now you're obsessing over his brother as well as well?"

Pete mimed vomiting, like Josh Dun on that poor lunch lady (Frank still hadn't forgotten the smell), "Cute, but definitely not my type."

Frank opened the door, walking out into the sunshine and appreciating how the warm breeze felt on his still-drying skin.

"His name is Gerard, and that's basically all I know about him so far."

Frank made air quotations with his fingers, "so far."

"He's not as important, anyways," Pete sat down on the steps outside of the school and unlocked his phone and opened his camera app.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked as he watched Pete dig into the pocket of his bag.

"Applying eyeliner, shorty," he answered as he extracted an eyeliner pen.

Frank huffed, "I'm only two inches shorter than you. Besides, you're, like, 5'6. That's still pretty fucking short."

He watched as his friend looked into the front camera of his cellphone, applying the eyeliner heavily under his eye.

Pete Wentz was the the walking definition of 'you'll regret this in a few years.' He had it all: the choppy black haircut, the beanies, the ripped clothing, the spiked jewelry, and on top of it all, the copious amounts of black eyeliner. He probably wouldn't talk to you if you weren't on his top eight on MySpace.

Sure, maybe Frank was being a bit hypocritical when it came to his friend's fashion choices, he thought as he toyed with the metal of the recently self-pierced lip ring in his mouth. He was just glad that he didn't look like he had time travelled from 2006.

"Done!" Pete announced, capping his pen. He pushed himself up to his feet, looking at Frank with freshly smudged eyes. "Okay, we can go now."

The two began walking again, following the path to Frank's house. The two went there so often, it was basically Pete's second home.

"Hey mom," Frank greeted his mother as he walked through the door.

"Hello, Mrs. Iero," Pete said politely. He had a habit of becoming a total kiss up whenever in the presence of an adult, which annoyed the hell out of Frank, because it meant that they always adored him.

Frank's mother, Linda, looked up from the book she was reading on the dining room chair, "Hi, boys! How was swim practice?"

"Grueling," Frank replied as he kicked off his shoes. "Seriously, why do they always have to be so hard on us when we first get back?" He complained.

"I don't know," she said, clicking her tongue between her teeth. "Do you two have a lot of homework?"

Pete was already standing at the foot of the stairs, "Yeah. We should probably start working on that."

Frank followed after him up the stairs, leaving the voice of his mother promising to bring them sandwiches behind.


	2. Frank Is Really, Really Italian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> franks's entire life may or may not be almost entirely based off of my dad's childhood wh o o p s

The Iero household consisted of three members: Frank, his mom, and his grandmother. The exterior itself was unimpressive, with one wall made of weathered cinder blocks and the other of off-white panels. Stepping into it, however, made the fabrics of time turn to molasses. The aura gave you a bittersweet homesickness for a place you've never been.

Without question, the most prominent thing about the Iero house was its smell. The mixture of cigarettes and garlic filled your nose and muddled your brain. In the evening, Italian dinners waiter through the air.

"Franco, vieni qui!" (Frank, come here!) Frank's grandmother shouted from the kitchen. She had a scowl on her face and glasses on her nose.

Frank rounded the corner, swinging on the door frame, "Si, nonna?" (Yes, grandmother?)

"Aiutami a leggere queste etichette, per favore," (Help me read these labels, please) she asked politely, waving her veiny hand in his direction. She held three bottles of herbs close to her face, squinting through the lenses. "Le parole sono troppo piccole." (The letters are too small.)

Frank took the bottles. There was oregano, parsley, and thyme. He scratched his head in an attempt to remember the Italian translations. He wasn't completely fluent in the language, but his grandmother didn't speak a lick of English, so he used the words he picked up around the house and the things he learned in Italian class to communicate with her.

"Il origano...il prezzemolo, e..." He wracked his brain for the word for thyme, "il timo!"

His grandmother gave him a wide, fake-toothed grin and patted his cheek twice, "Grazie, Franco. Sai che i miei occhi stanno invecchiando." (Thank you, Frank. You know my eyes are getting old.)

Frank nodded his head, pretending to fully understand what she had said. He placed the herbs on the counter, making sure to remind his grandmother which ones were which, before retreating to the basement.

He picked up his electric guitar from the corner of the room, plucking a few scales to warm up his fingers. After ten minutes of strumming nonsense, he set his instrument down and grabbed his notebook that was hidden under one of the many storage boxes.

Each page of the notebook was turned up slightly on the top corner and smelled of dust. The cover was barely connected, and the spiral wiring was starting to give way. Still, Frank never dared even to consider getting a new one.

The day he had received it was the last time he had seen his father. Frank still remembered the way the cold air stabbed at his lungs as him and his dad walked slipped through dirty snow. He was fifteen at the time and hovered somewhere around his dad's shoulders. The two walked beside each other silently, with tension hanging thick in the air because his dad had promised he would visit in time for Christmas, but ended up arriving the 26th because of delays.

Frank had been upset then, but now he would give everything just to have him call.

He remembered the way his father's calloused hands had been stuffed tightly into the pockets of his leather jacket for warmth, and what the pattern of the scarf Frank was wearing was (blue and green striped). He remembered how most of the town was still brightly adorned with Christmas lights. He remembered that they were on their way to get hot chocolate because they had run out at home.

On their way, they passed by a shitty convenience store with a sign so faded Frank couldn't make out the name. He did, however, see a row of spiral notebooks resting on the shelf indoors.

His father noticed his staring, "See anything you want in there?" Frank knew that he was just trying to make up for being late, but his heart still swelled at the offer.

Frank shook his head, "Just looking at the notebooks. Need 'un for school," he muffled through his scarf.

"I'm going to buy you one," his dad had said. And before he knew it, Frank was being practically dragged by the arm into the heated air of the store.

Two minutes later, they stepped back into the frigid outdoors with a blue spiral notebook tucked under Frank's arms.

-

Frank stepped out of the pool, panting and dripping wet. He didn't even bother to reach for his towel before splashing over to Gerard, who grimaced in distaste as Frank accidentally dripped water onto the hem of his jeans.

"Hey- oh, sorry," he looked down, noticing the mess he was making.

"It's fine," Gerard waved it off. He moved his legs away from the danger zone. "Oh, and I forgot to tell you yesterday, my name is Gerard." He held out his hand for Frank to shake.

"I'm Frank," Frank accepted his hand, shaking it twice. "Wait. Shit. I told you that already."

Gerard laughed at how socially inept the boy was sometimes. Frank cracked a sideways grin as well.

"So," Frank started, "I was thinking about the lessons."

"Okay," said Gerard, turning further away from his brother. Frank took that as a signal to talk quieter. He was obviously ashamed of the fact that he was getting swimming lessons by a boy in the grade below him.

"This pool is open tomorrow for free swim. Do you think we should start there?"

"Sure," he accepted. "What time is it?"

"It starts at ten."

Gerard's eyes bulged out of his head, "ten?"

"Is that okay?"

"Yeah, uh, yeah. It's fine. I usually don't get up before 1 pm, but it's fine."

He laughed again, which made Gerard's eyes shine a little brighter.

Frank stood there for a second longer, rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels. "I should- um, get changed now." He started towards the locker room.

"Can I have your number? In case something comes up, or something," Gerard asked before he went.

Frank turned back around, a bit startled by this sudden request. "Sure, it's 862-555-5555." Gerard took out his cellphone, typing the number under a new contact.

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow morning then, I guess?"

"Yup, see you tomorrow."

-

"So, you got Frank Iero's number at swim practice today?" Mikey asked.

Gerard nearly jerked the steering wheel, "How did you know that?"

"I was, like, right next to you?"

"You didn't hear anything else though, right?" Gerard asked ever-so-subtly.

Mikey furrowed his eyebrows, "No... why?" after a moment of consideration, he spoke up again. "Actually, don't answer that. I'd rather not know."

"Wait, how do you know Frank?"

"He's in my math and gym class," he stared at his older brother for a moment. "I've mentioned him before, don't you remember? His weird friend always stares at me?"

The right corner of Gerard's mouth curled into a smile. Finally, another thing to bother Mikey about, "Ooh, does his friend have a crush?" he drawled like a girl from a mid-2000s teen romance film.

Mikey buried his face in his hands, "You can't talk. You've got his number."

"He-" Gerard paused. He definitely didn't want to tell his brother that the only reason he had it was because he was getting fucking swim lessons. "Whatever."

They pulled up to the front of the house. Mikey pulled the keys from his coat pocket before stepping out of the car and unlocking the door.

Gerard was barely three steps inside the house before he announced, "I'm going to bed."

"What?" Mikey turned around. "It's, like, four thirty."

His older brother opened the kitchen cabinet, grabbing a bag of potato chips in his left hand. The aluminum packaging crinkled under his fingers.

"I know," Gerard made his way up the stairs to his bedroom. "I need my beauty rest."

He dashed up the rest of the stairs before Mikey could further interrogate him, or complain that he took the potato chips. It was true, he was more tired than usual today (he stayed up late the night before to study), but really he just needed a while to himself to process what had just happened.

He just got Frank fucking Iero's number.


	3. The First Lesson

Gerard woke up with a shock to his phone dinging at full volume. He inhaled sharply, swinging his limbs around in the comforter for a way to escape. His body stilled immediately as he realized that he wasn't, in fact, tied up in some kind of death trap, but instead safely tucked into his bed.

He reached over to his nightstand with a groan and unplugged his phone from the charger. The screen lit up again, revealing that it was around 9:40.

He opened the message app, who could be contacting him this early in the morning?

Unknown message:  
Still up for today? (This is Frank by the way)

Of course, Gerard knew what he was referring to, by that didn't stop him from thinking about how it could potentially sound suggestive. Or maybe it was just the hormones talking. (It was definitely the hormones.)

Then he realized that he had to be at the pool in less than twenty minutes.

"Oh shit!" he said aloud, quickly typing out a simple yeah, see you in about 10 before swinging out of bed.

He walked over to his dresser, throwing on the first thing he could find and digging out his swim trunks from the bottom of the cabinet. He then proceeded to tiptoe up the stairs- he didn't want any of his family waking up and catching him.

Gerard made his way into the kitchen, nearly slipping on the linoleum floor with his socked feet. He considered breakfast for a second to aid his rumbling stomach, but he didn't really have time to make anything (and he sure as hell wasn't touching one of those nearly black bananas on the counter). He'd just have to get something after.

The car woke up as slowly as Gerard's brain, taking three tries before it turned on. He stifled a yawn with his hand and drove off towards the pool silently. The radio stayed untouched. It was too early to deal with shitty radio music.

Gerard was already pulling into a parking space when a terrifying thought crossed his mind: what if someone he knew would be there? He was such an idiot, too blinded by infatuation to consider the possibilities. The only thing that stopped him from turning around was the voice in his brain (that for some reason kind of sounded like Mariah Carey) reminding him that if he backed out now, he may lose his only opportunity to get to know Frank.

He removed himself from the car, clutching his swim trunks tightly to the point of wrinkling them further.

The sounds of splashing and children laughing could be heard from the front desk, which Gerard walked past - but not before flashing a polite smile at the man who worked behind it.

The pool area appeared void of any short swimmer guys named Frank, so Gerard pulled his cellphone out again to ask him where he was.

Gerard:   
I'm here, are you?

He cursed himself as soon as he sent it. Was it too formal? Three circles inside a text bubble appeared on Gerard's screen, followed by Frank's message.

Frank;  
Yeah the locker rooms

See, Frank didn't add fucking commas into his text messages, Gerard thought.

Gerard;   
Be right there

He did a weird half jog/half walk thing to the other end of the pool, not wanting to slip on a water puddle.

"Hey," Frank greeted when Gerard's face came into view, peering around the corner of the door.

"Umm, hi," Gerard flashed a ghost of a grin in his direction. "Should I get changed?"

Idiot, he thought to himself, of course he had to get changed.

"Yeah, choose a stall. I've gotta get ready too."

Gerard wandered further into the locker rooms to where the stalls were. A little boy- no older than four- ran between his legs completely naked while his father chased after him, yelling at him to put his pants back on.

Gerard twisted his feet in order to avoid the child, stumbling through the curtain of a (thankfully) open stall.

When he was finished, he rolled up his clothes into a ball and tucked them into his locker. Frank had appeared to already be in the pool area, because Gerard couldn't spot his small frame anywhere. Out of habit and just general self conscious-ness because holy fuck Frank Iero was going to see him shirtless, he made his way over to the mirror to check his appearance.

Hands on his hips, Gerard pursed his lips and gave himself a once-over. He fixed his hair slightly and adjusted the band of his swim trunks so they went over the pudge on his waist.

Somewhat satisfied, he walked uncomfortably (wet feet felt weird) to the pool area, where Frank was sitting on the edge of the shallow end with his legs kicking in the water.

"Ready?" he asked when he saw Gerard, slipping the rest of his body into the water.

"I- uh, yeah?" Gerard stuttered out. He twisted his fingers in front of him.

Frank waved his hand, "C'mon, it's not cold!" he encouraged.

"Okay," Gerard hesitated by the edge, staring down at the glittering surface. His somewhat-edgy teenage persona was crumbling in front of him, all because of three feet of water.

"Fuck the water!" he exclaimed before hopping in. Frank shot him a strange look, but Gerard was too distracted by the fact that his swim instructor was a lying little bitch. This water was not warm at all.

His mouth opened in surprise, letting out short gasps of breath. His pale arms were suspended above the water's surface, which was lapping somewhere around his stomach.

"Cold?" Frank asked with a hint of humor in his voice.

"No shit!" Gerard cried a bit too loudly.

Frank hushed him, "There's babies here!"

"Oops," he cringed, looking around at the toddlers swimming near him. Thankfully, he didn't see anyone he recognized.

"Anyways, I was thinking we should probably start with kicking," Frank said from somewhere behind Gerard's right shoulder. He turned around to face the younger boy.

"Here, I'll demonstrate," offered Frank. He waded to the edge of the pool and grasped the concrete surface. Gerard mimicked his movements. The concrete felt rough and painful beneath his soft palms.

Frank lowered the rest of his body so he was lying straight on his stomach and extended his arms. Gerard craned his neck to watch him move his short legs in and out of the water, creating tiny splashes.

He stood up straight and motioned for Gerard to try. With a clear of his throat, Gerard extended his body, trying to keep it straight as Frank's had been, and began to kick uncertainly.

"Try not to bend your legs so much," Frank advised. Gerard locked his knees in place, as straight as they would go, but it felt unnatural and it made his kneecaps burn from the fermentation.

"Here, it might help if your back isn't so arched. Like this," he gasped as he felt a pair of hands crafted from God himself rest upon his waist, adjusting his posture.

"Alright," Gerard choked out, suddenly unable to concentrate. God, this was so humiliating. He could feel the judgmental burn of the eyes of suburban white moms glaring at him. He could practically hear them whispering to one another, "Karen, do you see that soggy emo over there? Is there something wrong with him?"

Although, he couldn't really blame them. He imagined he was quite a sight right now, limbs flailing in the shallow end of the YMCA pool.

The burn in Gerard's calves from kicking was rapidly becoming unbearable. He dropped his legs, panting for breath.

"Does it burn yet?" Frank asked.

"I don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow," Gerard answered truthfully.

"Sucks for you, we've still got at least another half hour."

—

Gerard heaved himself out of the pool, gasping and dripping wet like a fish out of water. His fingertips had turned shrunken and pruny along with his toes. He rolled over onto his back, not even bothering to move for the time being.

"I hate swimming," he exclaimed.

Frank giggled, stepping out of the pool almost effortlessly. He moved so that he was standing by the side of Gerard's head. The water from his swim trunks dripped obnoxiously onto his face.

"Asshole," Gerard turned his head. "Stop dripping on me."

"Not until you get up," Frank teased, flicking a droplet of water from his hand in his direction.

Gerard groaned, "Ugh, fine." He slowly got to his feet, wiping his hair from his eyes. "You're telling me you do this four times a week?"

"You didn't even, like, do actual swimming today," pointed out Frank as the two walked to the men's locker room.

"Hey, that's the first time I've been in the water since I was four years old."

Frank scrunched up his nose, "You haven't even taken a bath since then? Dude, that's gross!"

Gerard let out a rare genuine laugh, which he noticed he had done quite a bit in the past hour.

Yeah, he decided. He really liked to hang out with Frank.

After they both had changed, Gerard stood next to Frank, drying his hair with a towel. Suddenly, his stomach decided to growl really loudly like a pissed off tiger.

"Hungry?" laughed Frank.

"A little," Gerard admitted.

Frank looked up at him with an implacable gleam in his eyes, "You know, there's a breakfast place not too far from here that seems to be calling our names. You up for pancakes?"

Gerard nodded eagerly, swinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving the building with Frank.


	4. Cliché Waffle Date (??)

"You're getting syrup on your sleeve!" Frank exclaimed to Gerard, pushing his arm away from his untouched dish.

"Huh?" he looked down at the fabric of his oversized Beatles tee. "Oh, whoops." He pushed his sleeves up the the top of his shoulders and grabbed his fork.

Frank grinned into his lap, then looked around the familiar local café. It wasn't too crowded, but there were still a fair amount of customers seated at the scattered round tables.

He watched as Gerard hunched over his dish, swirling a bit of pancake in the syrup (which now his hair was dangling dangerously close to, Jesus Christ) and placing it between his teeth. Gerard seemingly relished in the taste of the food in his mouth, eyes closed and mouth smiling contently.

"So I'll assume your food is good?" asked Frank.

"Better than I remembered," replied Gerard, coughing into his arm at the end because he swallowed his pancake the wrong way. Frank laughed, even though he probably shouldn't have because Gerard was literally fucking choking in a restaurant. Hey, in his defense, he hung out with Pete quite a bit. That boy really took a toll on your personality.

Gerard finally stopped wheezing and slumped back in his chair, "I'm a mess," he admitted.

"A shock."

"Hey!" it was meant to sound offended, but neither boys were in a serious enough mood to achieve that. Frank felt high off of the morning aura and the smell of breakfast and his own silly attitude. It was absolutely wonderful.

"I haven't been here in a few years, almost forgot it existed," said Gerard.

"Really?" Frank responded, "I go here almost every Sunday with my mom and grandma. After church, you know."

Gerard nodded, "You're religious?"

He shook his still-damp hair, "Not me. Or my mom, come to think of it, but it makes my grandmother happy. It's not like she would let us skip it in the first place. She's very traditional." Frank took a bite out of his toast, then frowned. Fuck, he forgot to put the jelly on it.

"I used to go to church with my grandpa when I was younger, but I probably haven't been in around nine years," Gerard conversed, except Frank didn't know how to come up with an interesting enough reply to that. Maybe it was the fact that Gerard was in the grade above him, but he felt the need to prove to Gerard that he was intelligent. Frank decided to busy himself with his meal.

Gerard's phone buzzed in his pocket as though he were hiding 42 2/3 bees in there. He fished it out of his pants and checked the text message on the front screen.

Mikey;  
Hey where r u??

Gerard quickly typed a reply,

Gerard;  
Breakfast. Didn't want to wake anyone. Be back soon.

He stuffed his phone back into his pants and turned back to Frank.

"Brother," he explained. "He was wondering where I was."

"Mikey, right?" asked Frank. "I have some classes with him."

Gerard cocked an eyebrow, "I'm sure he's loads of trouble."

"Oh, of course. Doing all of his homework and only speaking when spoken to. How do you live with such madness?"

"I know," sighed Gerard melodramatically. "It's a struggle I have to go through every day."

Frank laughed into his toast.

"Speaking of my brother," he continued, "we'll probably have to get going soon. He's expecting me in a few minutes. I assume I'm driving you home?"

Frank crossed his arms defensively, "Hey, it's not my fault I can't afford a car." He unwound them in order to call a waiter over for the bill.

"Would you like to take these home?" the waiter asked, glancing down at their half finished dishes. It occurred to Gerard that he probably assumed that he and Frank were on a date. Just the thought of that sent a wave of heat up his neck, even though he knew the waiter probably didn't give a fuck.

"I will," answered Gerard. Frank politely accepted as well. The water took their dishes behind the counter to put them in styrofoam containers.

Frank opened the bill and took a few paper bills out of his pocket. Gerard held his hand out in front of him, lightly touching the money.

"What do you think you're doing?" he questioned.

Frank looked confused, "Uh, paying?" He pushed the money past Gerard's hand.

Gerard resisted more, "No you're not. I have money in the car. You're already doing me a favor."

They went back and forth for a bit, until the waiter came back with their meals and stared at them expectantly.

"We'll split it," Gerard decided. "Give me a second. He jogged outside, rummaging in his car until he extracted 15 dollars.

Back inside, he found Frank sitting smugly in his chair.

"Where's the bill?" Gerard asked.

"Payed it."

He gasped, lightly punching Frank on the arm, "Asshole!"

"Yeah, yeah. It's the least I could do for my chauffeur."

"Oh, is that all I am to you?" Gerard teased as they entered the car. He turned the keys in the ignition and backed out of the parking space.

"No. You're also my student."

"Fuck you," said Gerard. But, like, in an affectionate way.

—

Frank should've been surprised when he walked in to find Pete Wentz having breakfast with his family without him, but he wasn't. The two used to joke that Frank's mom liked Pete more than Frank, but now that actually seemed to slowly be becoming a reality.

"Buongiorno!" (Good morning!) Frank greeted as he stepped into the house. Pete furrowed his eyebrows, he always did have trouble with Italian. Oh well, that was his fault for choosing French class over Italian in school.

His grandmother shuffled away from the stove, "Ciao, Franco. Dove eri?" (Hello, Frank. Where were you?) She held out her arms, and Frank accepted her invitation to hug, holding her tight.

"Stavo facendo colazione con il amico," (I was having breakfast with a friend) he explained as she kissed his cheek.

"Io conosco lui?" (Do I know him?) his mother asked from over by the kitchen table.

He went over to hug his mother as well- his family were big huggers, "No, Mamma. Lui è un nuovo amico. L'ho aiutato con i suoi compiti." (No, Mama. He is a new friend. I helped him with his homework.)

Pete continued to sit there, looking lost and slightly offended that he wasn't involved in the conversation.

"Qual'è il suo nome?" (What's his name?) his mother asked, and Frank desperately wished he could just leave the conversation and go up to his room.

He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Pete may not know Italian, but he was pretty sure he would be able to recognize Gerard's name. "È Gerard." (It's Gerard.)

Pete's head shot up, a spark of understanding hidden beneath his dark eyes. "Thank you for the breakfast, Mrs. Iero," he said, flashing a charming smile at his mother. Pete began walking in the direction of Frank's room, upstairs. He motioned for Frank to follow.

When the two were safely tucked in his bedroom, out of earshot of his mother, Pete confronted him.

"Were you guys talking about Gerard?"

"Yeah, they were asking where I was," Frank said as nonchalantly as possible. He remembered the styrofoam box of toast in his hands and set it down on the desk, drawing Pete's attention to it.

"I thought you were teaching him how to swim?"

"I am. We went out for breakfast after because we were hungry," he shrugged.

A grin split across Pete's face, "Dude, if we both end up dating a Way brother-"

"Nope," Frank cut his idea short. "You can continue having your strange wet dreams about Mikey, but I want to be left out of it."

Pete flopped back onto Frank's mattress, a bundle of black against the navy blue comforter. They were well past the point of friendship where laying on each other's beds was weird. Which, if you didn't pick up from the fact that Pete was literally having breakfast with Frank's family, then I can't help you.

"You're no fun," Pete mumbled, prodding Frank's thigh with his socked toe.

He scoffed, "I'd rather be no fun than be fucking creepy like you."

Pete sat up defensively, "I am not creepy."

"Whatever you say," Frank held up his strong arms above his head like he was surrendering to arrest. "But you might want to turn down the stalker act by a few notches."

Laying back on the bed, Pete huffed, "He'll come around eventually."

"Whatever you say," repeated Frank under his breath. He sat down in his rolling chair near his desk and opened his laptop. He had some homework he wanted to get an early start on.


	5. “I Always Knew You Were the Gay Child”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very short oops

Mikey knocked on Gerard's door, distracting him from the notebook page he was doodling on.

"Hey," he entered without waiting for an invitation. "You went out to breakfast this morning? By yourself?"

"Yeah. I woke up early and decided to get something to eat besides cornflakes. Sorry I didn't bring you, but I figured you wouldn't enjoy waking up so early in the morning."

Mikey nodded, trying hard to keep a neutral stance. But to Gerard, he was as opaque as a window. He could tell that Mikey was at least mildly upset that he hadn't been brought along.

"Anyways," Mikey began. "I came in because Ray wanted to know if we could meet up with him at the park. You wanna come?"

Gerard nodded, "Sure. Just let me get my shoes."

—

The park was located exactly halfway between Gerard and Mikey's house and Ray's. They've been hanging out there since they were kids, and far after they outgrew the play area.

"Hey," Ray greeted, licking his feet under the swing. There was a rush as both Gerard and Mikey tried to sit in the other "big kid" swing, since there were only two. Gerard shoved Mikey away at the last second and sat victoriously in the swing as though he were a king claiming his throne.

"Asshole," Mikey commented, rubbing his arm where he was hit.

"Aw, Mikey gets the baby swing again. Just like old times!" Mikey sat in the swing for toddlers (without his legs in the hole, he's gotten stuck in it too many times to make that mistake again) looking an overgrown emo baby.

"I joined the drama crew," Ray directed the attention away from the brothers.

Gerard raised an eyebrow, "Really? All these years I've known you and you've secretly been a drama nerd?"

"I dunno, it just seemed like fun," Ray shrugged. "And it is! There's actually a lot of people there you guys might know. Brendon Urie, Tyler Joseph, Frank Iero-"

Gerard visibly sputtered, "Frank Iero?"

Ray nodded slowly, "Yeah, why?"

"No reason," he squeaked. 

"Gerard likes him," Mikey answered. "Like, likes him. Like he wants to take him into a dark room and-"

"I think Ray gets the point!" Gerard exclaimed. 

Ray kicked his feet beneath him, swinging slightly. The autumn breeze pushed the curly hair off his face. "Wow. Okay. Wasn't expecting that. How do you even know him enough to like him?"

"He doesn't," Mikey answered. "He just drags me along to swim practice after school so he can stare at Frank's-"

"Thank you, Mikey," Gerard interrupted yet again, staring his brother straight in the eyes. 

"Anyways," continued Gerard, "what do you even do in crew?"

"So far, we've done a lot of planning, and shit. I think the building crew is almost done with designing the blueprints for the set designs. I'm in costumes, though, so I'm not sure."

He nodded, pretending to be interested. The only thing he actually cared about was the fact that Frank was in the club.

"What section does Frank do?" he tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible. Mikey snorted beside him in disbelief.

"He does costume, I think." Ray paused, "You should do crew, Gerard. I think you'd like the art section."

Gerard considered it for a second, "Yeah. I mean, maybe. I like art."

Mikey rolled his eyes, "I'm sure that's the only reason you want to join."

\--

The red dye had faded more than 5 showers' worth after 1 hour in the pool, and Gerard's supply was running low. He figured people would get suspicious if he came out of his room one day with his hair a pale pink. Maybe, he decided, it was time for a darker color.

"Mom?" Gerard called, walking into the living room. "Can we go shopping?"

—

"His hair is black now," Frank said after the next Saturday, voice muffled by the Wentz's couch cushions. 

"So I've heard," Pete didn't look up from where he was filing his nails. "I heard you the first four times, actually. Are you sure you don't want to date a Way brother?"

Frank sat up, "How does talking about hair mean I like him?"

"So you do like him?" he asked as he reached over to grab the black nail polish beside him. 

"No!" Frank flopped back down. 

"Whats happening?" Pete's younger sister, Hillary, walked into the living room. Her hands were perched on her hips like a bird on a branch. 

"Guy stuff."

"You're painting your nails and Frank's talking about boys. I could hear you from the other room."

"Oh my god!" Pete threw his head back. "Can I get one moment to myself in this house?"

Hillary laughed, "You sound like mom."

"Fuck off."

Pete's home was crowded. There was his mom, his four biological siblings and his two adopted ones, not counting himself. The house was a ranch with only three rooms and two bathrooms, which led to literal wars in the morning. It was no wonder Pete spent so much time at Frank's house. 

"Whatever," shrugged Hillary. "I always knew you were the gay child.”


End file.
